“I shall not attempt to guess such an enigma,” said Thompson.
“Its solution is the butterfly; the various transformations through which it passes from the grub until it rises with its beautiful wings, are intended to be described. But come, as we are on enigmas, what say you to this: ‘We are a family of seventeen, all sisters; six others claim to belong to our race, but we account them illegitimate. We are born of iron, or of the feather that bears the bird heavenward; by iron we die. Our fathers were three brothers, our mother’s nature is uncertain. We teach him who desires to learn, and quickly and silently give words to him who requires them of us.’”
“I see the solution,” said Herbert, “but yet cannot work it out; it is, doubtless, the alphabet, in that day confined to seventeen true and six false letters; what puzzles me is the iron, and the natures of the mother and the father.”
“The iron,” said Lathom, “is the style used in writing; the sharp point for marking, and the broad end to rub out with; the uncertainty of the mother’s race arises from the pen being either of reed, or quill, or even of iron; the three brothers are the thumb and two fingers employed in writing.”
“The ‘uncertain mother’ is peculiarly applicable to these times,” said Thompson, with a smile, “when you may vary your pen from goose to swan, and from swan to crow; or choose between steel pens of every size and shape, and delicate nibs of gold tipped with rubies.”
“Come, we must leave our theories and enigmas, and return to our old story-tellers,” said Herbert. “What tale is in preparation for us?”
“A little more demonology, as we have it in the story of
“CELESTINUS AND THE MILLER’S HORSE.”
Alexander had an only son, named Celestinus, who was very dear to him; desirous of having him well instructed, he sent for a certain sage, and proffered his son to him for a pupil, promising a bountiful remuneration for his labor. The sage agreed, and took the boy home with him. Celestinus was a diligent scholar, and made great and satisfactory progress under the tuition of the philosopher.
One day, as the tutor and pupil were walking together through a meadow, their attention was directed to a horse grievously afflicted with the mange. He lay on the ground in the middle of the field, and on either side of him two sheep were feeding, tied together by a rope which chanced to hang over the horse’s back; irritated by the rubbing of the cord, the poor horse rose, and naturally drew with him the two sheep. The weight of the sheep made the rope press more and more upon his poor back, and galled him dreadfully. Unable to endure the pain, the horse ran towards his master’s home; the faster he ran, the more the sheep knocked against his flanks, and by their weight ground the cord into the sores on his back; with every struggle of the horse and his living burdens, the cord sank deeper into the wound.